


Born Sick

by LouPF



Category: Kaptein Sabeltann | Captain Sabertooth - Formoe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Langemann's POV, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: Langemann isn't ready when Pinky starts coughing. Like any parent, he knows what it means.Like any parent, he is terrified.
Relationships: Kaptein Sabeltann & Langemann, Kaptein Sabeltann/Langemann, Kaptein Sabeltann/Pinky, Langemann & Pinky
Kudos: 2





	Born Sick

Langemann isn't ready when the flowers start appearing. It's every parents' worst nightmare - for their child to succumb to a fate beyond anyone's control. Not everyone is affected, but it's impossible to tell whether you're immune or not until you start coughing up petals.

Pinky isn't immune. It's clear from very early on - it's not unusual, hacking up the odd flower bud or petal when you're young - puppy love and early crushes often end in that. Pinky doesn't cough up much, though. A yellow leaf Rosa helps identify as coreopsis when he's seven, clusters of pale hyacinths when he's nine - a whole, black anemone when he's ten. Langemann doesn't have the faintest clue who they could belong to, and neither does Pinky. It never develops into something dangerous, and so they both move on, though Pinky starts the old-fashioned tradition of cleaning and pressing the flowers.

Every single day Langemann praises the heavens that Pinky has never attempted to hide the flowers from him. There have been countless cases of parents - spouses, children - finding their loved ones dead, flowers lodged in their throats.

Pinky's finally let onto the Grim Lady when he's ten - as a galley boy, at first. Later, when he's twelve, he's offered a full position among the crew, and Langemann has never been so proud. Pinky accepts it warily - his trust in the Captain wounded severely. The years trickle by. Pinky is thirteen, then fourteen. The hierarchy of the ship shifts and bends to accommodate him, and he rises over Lech, over Odin, over Pysa. One day, when he's fifteen, Pinky asks Pelle to do something, and he does so without hesitation.

He's called one of Sabeltann's most trusted men, and Langemann knows it's true, and he's proud, he's _so proud._

And then, one day, when Pinky's sixteen, he starts coughing. Langemann sits in the room next-door over, practicing his reading. He ceases and perks his ears when he hears - every parent knows to listen for this, for many reasons - Pinky coughs once. Twice. Thrice.

He doesn't stop, and it evolves into near-frantic hacking.

Langemann drops the book and runs.

Pinky is crouched over on the floor, back bent and lips bloodied. A few petals are scattered on the floor around him, though it's obvious he hasn't gotten the worst out yet. Langemann falls to his knees beside him, pulling him upright. Pinky clutches at his shoulders, at his jacket, gasping for breath even as he keeps coughing, coughing, coughing. "Dad," he whines, and Langemann's heart quivers.

"I know," he whispers, and pulls him as close as he dares while still giving him space to cough. "I know."

Eventually, a cluster of flowers is flung to the floor from Pinky's bloody hand, and he heaves after air, wet and tired. Langemann grabs him before he can fall over and tucks him against his chest, cradling him gently. Pinky weeps, fingers curled loosely around Langemann's, tears sticky on his cheeks. He moans apologies, soft and cracking apologies - for getting blood on Langemann's shirt, for getting tears on his jacket - for making a mess.

"No, no," Langemann mutters, pushing aside Pinky's bangs. They cling to his forehead through sweat. "It's okay. It's okay."

Pinky refuses to tell him who it is. Langemann doesn't pry. He helps him to bed to let him rest, cleaning his face from tears and spit and blood. When he goes to leave, Pinky calls after him, voice quiet. "Dad?" Langemann pauses. "I love you."

 _Please don't love them_ , Langemann thinks, _please don't, don't make me lose you. Don't die, don't die, **please.**_ "I love you, too," he says, and hopes Pinky doesn't hear all the unspoken words in his voice.

He goes back to clean up the flowers.

The black anemones have returned - now with handfuls of amaranth and amaryllis scattered in-between. Langemann knows their meanings - he read up on flower meanings when he was a lad. Anemone - forsaken. Amaranth - immortal. Amaryllis - pride.

He has no clue who it is.

(He doesn't want to think of who it could be.)

On the table, he puts the intact flowers for Pinky to find later. To press, to understand, to read up on. Langemann doesn't mind.

*

Pinky's love is not gentle. It's fierce, furious, and unforgiving. He hides it well, however - tucking away when he coughs in public, carrying napkins for flowers and blood. He doesn't let it affect him too severely, though he must be aware that a love like this is a death sentence of its own.

"Will you talk to them about it?" Langemann asks, one late night after Pinky's coughing had woken him up.

Pinky laughs, and it's wrangled and rough. "No," he says, "he'll never like me back."

Langemann's heart sinks. Pinky is usually good at judging these things. "You don't know that," he half-heartedly protests. Pinky gives him a flat look.

"Trust me," he says. "The ocean will run dry before that happens."

He'd feared as much. Langemann closes his eyes and pulls him closer, against his chest - hoping dearly that this young, fierce love will not be what tears his son from him. "Please be careful," he begs.

"You know I can't control that," Pinky says, and hugs him back, tighter than Langemann would have expected.

Pinky might not admit it, but he is terrified.

*

He doesn't seem to get any worse. He doesn't get any better, either. There is no increase in flowers - and no decrease in health - and Pinky just coughs up buds and flowers and blood every other week. Langemann wants to be grateful for it - it seems Pinky is of the rare few who are stubborn enough to not let the flowers overgrow their lungs - but he thinks he might not be grateful before Pinky's love is returned or whithered.

*

A scheduled expedition is fast approaching, which is surprising in and of itself - usually, Sabeltann only drags them all off to sea with no warning - and Pinky grows more and more distant every day. Langemann concludes there are two options: one, whoever is causing Pinky to cough lives in Abra and he's loath to leave them, or two, whoever is causing Pinky to cough is part of the crew and he's loath to spend more time with them.

Pinky doesn't say. Langemann doesn't ask.

*

The day of the expedition comes around, and Langemann is half expecting Pinky to not show up. He had a horrible fit yesterday, barely able to keep himself up on two legs - and yet today he stands on deck, at roll call, with nothing but a smudge of blood on his lips to prove his illness.

Pinky hides it, which makes Langemann more confident that it's one of them. Why otherwise would he drink tea like nobodies business, or carry handkerchiefs wherever he goes? It's not like Sabeltann would not let him aboard the ship if he knew - coughing flowers is out of a person's control, and also not contaminating.

Both Lech and Benjamin seem to know that something's up, but Odin is the one to confront Langemann about the dark petals scattered around Pinky's hammock. "Is he going to do anything about it?" Odin asks, clutching the familiar black-and-red in a shaking fist. His eyes are misty.

"He's stubborn as all hell," Langemann says, and Odin nods, understanding.

*

Langemann is bent over a treasure map with Sabeltann right by him. They discuss the plans ahead of them since they'd ransacked the island the treasure map led them to with no success. "I think this could prove fruitful," Langemann says, tapping the island he'd secretly thought it was from the beginning. "We could send in a scout, first - you know Pinky's always been good at that."

Sabeltann nods thoughtfully, fingers tapping at his chin. His eyebrows are knitted tightly together.

"However, if we do that, then - "

And he doesn't get any further, for Sabeltann starts coughing.

Langemann's whole world shatters, a little bit, just at that moment.

It's a harsh coughing fit, though it doesn't last for long. Sabeltann has to step back to keep from coughing on the map, and in a far too quick move, he has a dark napkin pressed against his mouth. He doesn't seem surprised at all, only mildly bothered.

When he stops coughing, the napkin is bloodied and holds a single flower.

"Captain!" Langemann exclaims, shocked, flabbergasted, and a tiny bit betrayed. He'd thought Sabeltann would never love.

 _Not him too_ , his heart moans, and he pleads with it to be silent.

"No need to sound so offended, Langemann," Sabeltann croaks drily, folding the napkin away in a pocket. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, grimacing when it comes back bloodied. "It's not you."

"Then who is it?" Langemann blurts before he has time to grab himself by the throat and choke himself for his stupidity.

Sabeltann laughs darkly. "Wouldn't you like to know."

*

They never speak about it afterwards.

*

But Langemann spends long hours thinking about his Captain and who he could possibly be coughing about. Everyone knows some basic flower meanings - it's essential and a part of nearly everyone's childhood. Langemann himself is far from an outlier.

Sabeltann had coughed up a daisy. A _daisy._ The most basic of all flowers - innocence, purity, loyal love, faith. Its meanings are many and vast, but they all bottom in the same. Light and daring. He'd never expected Sabeltann to fall for anyone - much less someone with a _daisy_. Someone with rhododendron, maybe. Oak, possibly - black tulips, too. Danger. Strength. Power.

But a _daisy_?

Opposites attract, he supposes.

Then again, there could be more flowers to the mix. Langemann should know _that_ by now - Pinky's assortment of anemones, amaryllis, and amaranth should make that obvious.

There is an inkling at the back of his mind - a small little whisper begging him to investigate further - but it's suffocated by his worry and exhaustion, and soon he's fast asleep in his hammock.

*

Pinky has a coughing fit in the middle of the deck. It's a bad one - the kind where he can barely breathe and his knees give out. Langemann is with him, but unable to do much more than whisper soothing things and attempt to shield him from the crew. He has to battle the instinct to gather Pinky in his arms, knowing he would not appreciate it. Not now - not here - in full view of everyone. As it is, Pinky sits bent over his own hands, coughing in-between tears and gasps. "Dad," he moans pathetically, which is nearly enough to make Langemann cry himself.

"Give him some space!" he snaps instead, flapping his hands towards the crew, who all stumble a few feet back. They all look worried. Langemann gets it. Any coughing fit can be the last.

Amaryllis lies next to a torn anemone, wet and bloodied against Pinky's red palm. Langemann puts a hand on his back, hoping to comfort - but then the crew's constant mutters die down, and the crowd splits like the Red Sea, making space for Sabeltann.

"Captain," Langemann says, tensing.

Pinky's head whips around, his bloodshot eyes wide. When he sees Sabeltann, his whole face flushes dark red, and he tucks into himself, shoulders trembling.

Sabeltann trembles, too. His whole expression is a familiar tightness that signals he's barely keeping himself together. "Langemann," he says, through gritted teeth. "A word."

Langemann stands, signalling for Benjamin to take his place by Pinky's side. He follows Sabeltann into his cabin, hands clutched behind his back - nails digging into his own skin. Sabeltann must be furious to shake like this, though Langemann has no inkling as to why. He can't think of anything he or Pinky has done that could warrant this reaction.

The moment the door closes, though, Sabeltann spins on Langemann and chokes, "Is it me?"

Langemann blinks. "What?"

Sabeltann starts coughing, but he forces out words among the petals and hacks, fist pressed to his lips. "My flowers," he gasps out, "those are my flowers, I know them, forsaken - is it me?" The coughing dies down, and he turns desperate, pleading eyes on Langemann. "Is Pinky coughing for me?"

Langemann thinks of Pinky's flowers - their meanings - about how Pinky tried so hard to hide it.

Of course, it's Sabeltann. Of course. Who else would stubborn Pinky deem good enough, if not the best? Langemann knows his son. "Yes," he says, with full certainty.

Sabeltann drags trembling fingers down his face, exhaling hard. He smudges blood and spit across his chin, which Langemann decides not to comment on. His eyes glisten like he's about to cry, which is quite honestly the most terrifying thing Langemann has ever seen. The relief accompanying the tears is so overwhelming that the pieces finally snap into place.

"It's Pinky," Langemann blurts. "You cough for Pinky."

Sabeltann barks a watery, angry laugh. "Of _course_ it's Pinky," he snaps. And then, with a voice about to crack: "Who else would I be coughing," - in a move too swift for Langemann to properly see, he yanks a fistful of petals and flowers out of his pocket. He shakes it at Langemann, several leaves and buds falling to the floor - " _daisies_ for?"

Neither will die. _Neither will die. **Neither will die.**_

"You must tell him," Langemann says, brushing a broken edelweiss petal off his shoulder.

Edelweiss - courage. Devotion.

Of course Pinky's flowers are daisies and edelweiss.

"I know," says Sabeltann. "But how?"

And Langemann snaps, "I don't _care_ how, he's been suffering for _months._ Just put him out of his misery, and we'll all be happy."

Sabeltann blinks owlishly. "Months?" he repeats.

"Two months, twenty-two days, and four hours," Langemann says. "But who's counting?"

*

Langemann is sent back outside to do damage control. Sabeltann doesn't admit that's what he's doing, but Langemann knows him well enough to know it's what he means.

Pinky is nowhere to be seen. Benjamin has set Pelle and Pysa to clean up the deck.

Odin is the first to notice Langemann's searching gaze. "He went to the hammocks," he says, jabbing his chin in the direction of their sleeping quarters.

"Thanks," Langemann mutters, before hurrying off to find his child.

Pinky is curled up in his own hammock, cheeks tearstained but thankfully not bloody anymore. He looks up when Langemann enters. "Hi, dad," he mutters sullenly.

"Pinky-lad," Langemann replies. "How are you?"

Pinky wordlessly puts his fingers in his mouth, fishing out a half-crushed petal from behind his teeth. Langemann winces as he flicks it away. "Is he mad at me?" Pinky asks, quiet and hurt.

"No," says Langemann. "He was just... concerned."

Pinky turns wide, hopeful eyes on him. All the worry that Pinky's flowers aren't Sabeltann's evaporate at that. "For me?" he asks.

"Yes." Langemann knows it's not a lie. "I can't say more than that, unfortunately."

He falls silent at that. Langemann glances over to find Pinky watching him contemplatively. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and dark. "Do not give me hope if there is none, father."

A chill dances down Langemann's back. This is the reason Pinky is one of Sabeltann's most trusted men; this is why he's quickly gathering a reputation across seas and lands. His cold and fire among each other paints a terrifying picture if he wills it.

But Pinky is his son, and Langemann is not afraid. "Never, lad," he says. "Never in a thousand years."

*

It takes two weeks, and then Langemann stumbles upon Pinky and Sabeltann making out, Sabeltann pinned to the wall by an eager Pinky, and he figures things have worked out. The picture of Pinky with his hands in Sabeltann's hair and Sabeltann breathless and gasping is one he won't soon forget, though he backs out of the room before either of them notice his presence.

He lies awake in his hammock that night and watches, cautious, as Pinky does not return to his own bunk. When he wakes the next morning, Pinky is still not there, and he smiles.

Things will work out.

*

Two weeks later, they've returned to Abra, and it's night, and Langemann stands before the bathroom mirror with blood on his lips and petals on his tongue.

A bloodied flower lies in his palm.

A black anemone.

Langemann very quietly decides he _hates_ black anemones.


End file.
